


Contact Embarrassment

by WitchFlame (RachelMcN)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Assumptions, Crowley is Offended, Crowley is So Done (Good Omens), Demon Summoning, Gen, Humor, Mansions are Mazes, Mature Rating is for Newt's Assumptions, Mentioned Anathema Device, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), POV Newton Pulsifer, Roleplay, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Summoning, Summoning Circles, Witchcraft, You Know What They Say About Them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24163240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachelMcN/pseuds/WitchFlame
Summary: Newt winces in disorientated embarrassment as he pushes open another door.Would it really be so bad if mansions had signposts added for hapless visitors just trying to find their way back from the bathroom?He picks a door at random and opens the one on the right. He and the man kneeling inside the room, within some elaborate arcane role-play stare at each other.He pulls it quickly shut and tries another door, cheeks aflame. Well, that’s a cupboard.
Relationships: Crowley & Newton Pulsifer
Comments: 14
Kudos: 93





	Contact Embarrassment

**Author's Note:**

> To reiterate my tags - don't come here expecting maturity. You will only be disappointed. This is school ground levels of base assumptions and Newt is everybody who ever heard suspicious sounds coming from their flatmate's room and made The Wrong Call.

Newt winces in embarrassment as he pushes open another door and finds himself in a room he definitely didn’t come through on the way to the bathroom. Anathema and her friend are having tea and biscuits in the conservatory and – hang on. He pushes across to the window of the disused sitting room and stares. He isn’t even on the ground floor. He doesn’t _remember_ taking any stairs. Linda had been very talkative as she showed him the way and it felt rude not to pay attention but he wouldn’t be this lost if he’d cared more about the turns she was taking him than her educative rambling on the properties of quartz. 

Would it really be so bad if mansions had signposts added for hapless visitors? 

He turns around and backs out of the room, wandering further down the corridor in search of a staircase. Hopefully one of them will come looking for him if he’s gone long enough and he’ll only have to suffer the embarrassment of becoming lost in somebody’s home for the length of a cup of tea. 

The corridor only leads to a choice of three doors and he draws his hands down his face in disbelief. He’s going to end up wandering in to her bedroom and Linda will catch him digging through her cupboard hoping to find an entrance to Narnia because he’s starting to suspect that’s the type of roundabout directions he’ll have to take in a witches house. 

He picks a door at random and opens the one on the right. He and the man kneeling inside the room, within some elaborate arcane role-play stare at each other. 

Nope. 

He pulls it quickly shut and tries the door in front of him, cheeks aflame. That’s a cupboard. A broom handle bounces against his head as he disturbs the delicate balance of household appliances. 

After shoving the equipment back in and forcing the door closed over them, he tries the handle on his left. 

He’s found another bathroom. Bugger. How many bathrooms does a single woman need anyway? Well, maybe not single. Then again maybe the role-play thing is just a hobby. Dear God, he does not want to contemplate this. Who leaves their partner – client? – waiting for them in order to entertain visitors? They called ahead, she should have known to expect them! 

Now he feels dirty. He looks back down the corridor he just came from and contemplates his choices. He really doesn’t want to go back to eating cute little tray bakes while knowing they interrupted Linda’s...personal time. Assuming he can even find his way back which is becoming more and more unlikely. 

“Hey, you still there?” 

And now the man is shouting through the door at him. Great. Brilliant. Amazing. This is absolutely what he expected when Linda and Anathema invited him along. He’s already been caught snooping, it isn’t likely the man won’t complain to Linda about her obnoxious house guest. 

“Yeah,” he calls back sheepishly, “Sorry. You couldn’t...point me to the conservatory, could you? I’m a bit lost.” 

There’s an ungainly snort from behind the closed door. “Would never have guessed. Listen, open the door, will you?” 

He really doesn’t want to but it does seem quite rude to expect the man to shout directions through the boundary now he thinks about it. He should have just kept quiet and tiptoed away and hoped the floor didn’t creak. Linda wouldn’t have known any different until he and Anathema were already screeching down the road. Okay, well, puttering. Point is, he wouldn’t have to face his trespassing directly. 

“Are you sure?” He offers delicately, “You know actually, I think I might be able to figure it out myself, never mind. Sorry for disturbing you.” 

“Wait!” comes the sharp barking reply, “What do you mean, am I sure; of course I’m sure! Get in here!” 

Oh good lord, what has he done? Does the man think he’s part of whatever this is? He creaks the door open just wide enough that they can stop shouting at each other. He stays hidden behind the safety of the door and keeps his eyes resolutely on the corridor. 

“I’m actually just a visitor here. A friend of a visitor. I’m really, _really_ sorry, I just took a wrong turn.” 

“Sure, alright,” the man agrees genially, “You can still come in, I’m not going to bite you.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut and curses his lack of direction. 

“Or we can stay hidden behind a door, that’s cool too,” the man drawls, “Listen, I’m in a bit of a bind here and I could really use a hand.” 

“I can get Linda,” he pleads desperately, “Whenever I manage to find her again.” 

“ _No_ ,” comes the immediate reply over the second half of his statement, bleeding with urgency. Okay, that’s unexpected. “She doesn’t need to know about this,” the man recovers, tension pulling back until it’s only an undercurrent in his voice, “Complete accident, nobody could have foreseen it.” 

Newt chews on his lip. “That sounds ominous.” 

There’s the sound of shuffling, the man shifting against the floor. “I only need you to knock over a candle,” he tempts, “little bump against the cabinet. Maybe open the window a crack. Unseen gust of wind caused it all. Thoughtless happenstance.” 

Newt gapes and works through several expressions that nobody is privy to see. “Are you asking me to help you burn down the house?!” 

“Shg – Whj – Ngk – No!” the man splutters, “Why would your mind go there?!” 

That’s a good question, actually. He can’t think of many other good reasons for knocking a candle over and referring to it as an _accident_ in a creepy tone of voice though. Maybe it’s part of the weird role-play thing. 

“I should go,” he tries to extract himself from the surreal conversation, “They’ll be wondering where I am. Good luck with your...candle thing.” 

“No, hang on,” he’s stopped, the man’s voice rising again. Newt slumps against the cracked door and resigns himself to his own social idiocy. “I’m actually in trouble here, you can’t help me out with a little vandalism? This is kid’s level of destruction. Baby interference. Come on, give me a break, here.” 

Against his better judgement he pushes the door a little wider. “Actual trouble?” He repeats a little sceptically. 

“No, I enjoy being in a cage. Yes, _actual_ trouble.” 

Suspicious but hopelessly altruistic he edges into the room, squinting. He’s not certain he wants to see what’s going on in here. His impulse to help is going to give him nightmares some day. 

The man is on his feet now, arms crossed, still in the centre of the painted circle. At least he hopes it’s paint. The man’s eyebrow arches as he clings worriedly to the edge of the door. 

“Erm,” he tries to find something to say, “Cool contacts?” 

The man frowns. “Thanks.” He glances away from the strange look the man seems to be going for – Feline? Reptilian? Fantasy animal? – and over at the cabinet lining the edge of the room. Yep, witchy stuff. Oh no, sorry; occult paraphernalia. Anathema keeps having to correct him. He’ll get there one day. 

“Sooo....” the man prompts, waving a hand at the painted squiggles he’s standing in the middle of. He seems really committed to this act. 

“There’s...no actual cage,” Newt can’t help but point out, “You could just...walk over them?” 

The man blinks at him, slow and deliberate. He has to admit, the guy has really gotten the creepy factor down. 

“Okay, don’t go running out that door,” the man soothes softly, as if calming a skittish animal, “but what if I told you they are actually stopping me leaving.” 

He’d gotten that part of the game already, he’s not an idiot. It just needed stated, in case the poor sod actually believed it. Anathema is great and all but there’s no way he’d agree to this strange theatre act. Not that she’s ever asked him to. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t. No, definitely, this is more weird than he’d be comfortable with, personally. 

He nods along tightly, too embarrassed to shatter the man’s daydreams. “Sure, sure. You can’t walk over them because you’re...” He trails off, realising he has no way to finish that sentence. 

“A demon,” the man provides, right before his face screws up in a grimace. “Gk, that’s – those are proximity truth binds,” he points at a cluster of twining shapes, “didn’t mean to tell you that. Still not going to bite you. Don’t go leaving me here.” 

“Wow,” Newt’s mouth moves before he can stop it, “I mean, no. That’s fine. Demon, right. Sure.” He feels the urge to ask how deeply they’ve committed to this act – is that blood of some sort or is it really only paint? – but he’s paying attention to his mouth again and keeps it shut before he can put his foot in it even more than he already has. 

“Okay, look,” the man-portraying-a-demon tries to direct him, “all I need you to do is take that candle on the edge there and tip it onto that cluster of runes. Candle misplaced, wax all over the markings, we can both go back to our lives. No harm done.” 

He doesn’t want drawn into this. “Are you sure you don’t just want to wait for Linda?” 

The man-demon throws his hands up in the air and looks like he’s about to start pacing but only ends up prowling the inner edge of the markings instead. Even frustrated, he remembers his role, it’s oddly inspiring. 

“No, I don’t want to wait for Linda! You know why? Because she won’t let me out!” The man rocks forward on the balls of his feet and points tightly at Newt, hand never passing the invisible barrier of the paint. “My plants are going to be wilting, do you have any idea how infuriating that is? I haven’t taken the angel out to dinner in a week, he requires constant care or he’ll get stuck in a book and never surface until he’s read through his entire collection all over again!” 

There’s some sort of weird dynamic here that desperately needs explored but Newt isn’t touching it with a bargepole. Not unpacking any of that, thank you very much. 

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this,” he shares honestly, “not really my thing.” 

“What, occultism?” the acting demon queries, “Not a fan myself, honestly.” 

Newt swallows back his retort and pretends that makes sense. The candle the man wants him to tip onto the paint is dripping wax onto the cabinet. That can’t be good for it. 

“Come on,” the man purrs and if that’s supposed to be his sexy-demon voice, Newt is leaving right now, “Just a little spill.” 

Newt can feel his face heating up. Tipping a candle had seemed more dangerous than sordid but now the man is making it sound absolutely _filthy_. 

“Nope!” he declares aloud, hands up in surrender as he scurries backwards into the door. The handle digs into his spine. “No, I’m sorry, I’m not into role-play, my girlfriends right downstairs actually, I should really be getting back to her.” 

“Into...” the man’s lip curls, “This isn’t a _sex thing_! Honestly, you humans, you’ll make anything into foreplay, won’t you? I’m not standing here for my health, you twat!” 

“I’m just saying it’s not for me,” Newt rushes to reassure his hosts pretend-demon-man, “It’s great for you if you like it. Good on you finding something you enjoy and sticking with it.” 

“You’re in a witches house,” the man snarls, dragging a hand through his hair, “These aren’t contacts. This is a demon trap. I’m a demon. Not a playboy. _Demon_.” 

They stare at each other. Newt is fairly sure his ears have gone as red as the lit candle wick. The man looks distressed. He might have made a faux pas. 

In recompense, he tiptoes over to the cabinet, picks up the candle and silently places it on its side next to the paint. The melted wax pools over the squiggles and the man sighs in relief. 

“I’m just going to go now,” he squeaks, backing carefully out of the door. As soon as he’s back in the corridor he pulls the door shut and legs it, feeling strangely used. 

He stumbles through several open rooms before he finally finds a staircase and quicksteps down it thankfully. Linda finds him as he detours through the kitchen. 

“Oh, there you are,” she greets, “was starting to think you’d gotten a bit lost, was about to come find you. The old family home did get a bit unwieldy with all the extensions. No troubles finding your way back, were there?” 

“No!” Newt barks, “Not at all.” He can feel heat crawling up his neck. “Well, I mean...I might have walked into a cupboard. Put everything back where I found it, I promise.” 

She giggles and walks past him to the cabinets, fetching a glass. “Ah, no foul. Were you after a drink of water?” 

“Yep, that’s...why I’m in the kitchen,” Newt agrees, “I’m not a bother, am I?” 

“Oh, shush,” she waves him off, “don’t worry, you’re delightful company.” 

He trails her back to the conservatory, finally back where he started after the bathroom misadventure he will never speak of. 

It isn’t until he’s back behind the wheel of Dick Turpin that he realises he’s seen somebody with those weird contacts before. Out on the tarmac, after he’d just accidentally crashed the missile systems for the whole world. He winces, glancing over at Anathema who’s watching the world trot by out of the window. Either he accidentally went and discovered what one of his fellow Apocalypse survivors likes to do in their free time or he actually just released a demon from a friends house. Oh, hell. He sinks back into his seat with a further wince. 

He should send Linda some flowers in apology. Would that be weird? Not the _hey I like you_ type of flowers but then, he doesn’t think they have cards for saying _sorry I released your pet demon man you might have had a thing with_. 

He is never. Telling. _Anybody_. About this. 

**_Ever._ **


End file.
